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Disgusting.
That was the only word in Stelle’s mind as her boots sank into the deep mud. It was all her weary mind could process at that moment, exhausted as she was.
In her skintight heavy suit, survival pack, and gasmask that any sane person would wear outdoors, walking required much more effort than she would’ve liked. The mud didn’t help. Stelle yawned, wondering again why she was sent out to this swamp at midnight in the first place.
She didn’t have to wonder for very long, though. A faint cry emerged from behind her, not too far away.
So that’s it, she thought sarcastically. I was sent to investigate a dying cat.
She turned around with a fair amount of difficulty and moved in the direction of the cries, which persisted as Stelle came closer. She drew a gun, thinking to put the poor animal out of its misery.
Yet the source of the cries was not a dying animal, but a man in agony. He looked up at her with wide eyes, mouth twisted in obvious pain. Misunderstanding the purpose of Stelle’s drawn weapon, his weak cries grew louder in frantic desperation.
“Please, don’t shoot. Ahh!” Tears began to form in his eyes.
“Oh, Christ,” Stelle moaned through the gasmask, holstering her weapon. She knelt down and began to examine the man’s body. “Just what the hell happened to you?”
He flinched and gave a hiss of pain as Stelle touched him. “Ah! Gas attack, I think. Everything hurts. Gah…”
Stelle wondered why he would be outside without at least a mask, well aware of the danger, but now was no time for interrogation. She quickly opened her pack and produced a second gasmask. She handed it to him, in case more of the malicious vapors were still out there. He slowly and painfully accepted it, and left it lying on his face.
“Mind telling me what you’re doing outdoors unprotected?” She asked him as she dug through her pack. She searched for anything to dull his pain or help identify what he breathed in. Had she nothing like that? Yet it was too late. The man didn’t speak, or move, or even breathe. He had already gone.